


Blather and Bluebells

by inabsurd



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Dad Stan, Family Secrets, Fluff, Gen, Heart-to-Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabsurd/pseuds/inabsurd
Summary: When asked, Stan always says that the flower shop is his pride and joy; in private, he knows Dipper and Mabel share that honour.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26
Collections: Writing Squad Anniversary Gift Exchange





	Blather and Bluebells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giraffewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffewrites/gifts).



> this is an Extremely Overdue gift fic for Jess from way back in, like, April?? I AM SO SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

“I saw those kids of yours out on the town again last night.”

Stan pokes his head out from behind the employees only door. “What were they gettin’ into this time?” he asks. The twins are magnets for trouble, too much like their old man, really.

He ducks back behind the doorway, sifting through his basket storage to try and find something to Susan’s tastes. He hears her laugh, muffled only slightly through the wall. “Dan says he caught them with his daughter and her crew breaking into the old convenience store—”

“The Dusk to Dawn?”

“Yeah, that’s the one! It’s a good thing it was Dan and not Durland or Blubbs. All of those teens trapped in our tiny holding cells? They’d probably eat each other.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time the kids ended up in one of them,” Stan calls back distractedly, “Hm...not a basket, but—Hey, Susan, how’sa bucket sound instead?”

He hears a cheery, “Bring it on out!” and starts unstacking the various boxes and crates from his find. The bucket in question is regular metal, if a little thin, with some cat faces painted on the sides. He lifts it up and hauls it back out to his front desk.

“What do you think?”

Her good eye goes wide enough to make up for her only being able to move the one, “Oh my! I’ll take it!”

Stan grins and rings it up on the till. “You want some flowers to go with that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Stan, I got some flowers last week that are still looking pretty…”

“I’m sure you do. Lady like you must have a real green thumb,” nevermind that green thumbs have nothing to do with the cut flowers he’s selling, “But it’s cheaper,”  _ By one whole cent!  _ “To buy the flowers and bucket than to come back next week when you gotta replace your bouquets.”

“Well…”

Stan leans on the counter, turning on the charm, “It’s even cheaper if you buy in bulk! I got more of these cat-buckets in back if you want more?”

“Aw, why not? I’ll put them in the diner!”

_ Got her. _

* * *

Stan would like to say he’s a pretty charming guy. The folks in Gravity Falls seem to really like his dumb little flower shop, which makes it real easy to get people talking. Ladies like Susan eat it up, the single-dad florist junk is a good angle for him. The kids, of course, hate it, because it means he hears all the latest town gossip.

“Should I be worried you two are pickin’ up illegal habits without your old man ‘round to supervise?” he asks when they walk into the shop later that day.

Dipper groans, “Seriously, how do you know  _ everything?” _

“Perks of bein’ a parent,” he deadpans. He stares the twins down, a no-nonsense look in his eyes he only learned  _ after _ getting custody of the kids.

“We were super supervised, it’s fine,” Mabel steps in.

Stan doesn’t think a bunch of fifteen year olds count as supervision, and is about to say as much, but his son beats him to the punch.

“Besides,” Dipper glares, “Breaking into an abandoned building is way less illegal than tax fraud, voter fraud, smuggling—”

“Yeah, alright, I get it. Just be careful, alright? Wendy’s a good kid, but she can get a little wild sometimes.” He pauses, and adds as an afterthought even though it really shouldn’t be, “Don’t go wanderin’ off without tellin’ me either, got it? Especially in the dead of night.”

Dipper looks like he wants to argue—he’s been doing that a lot lately. Stan’s not sure whether he should be proud or annoyed—but Mabel intervenes with a swift, “Deal!” and Dipper is contractually bound to that decision through the unspoken Twin Laws. Stan knows all about the Twin Laws.

“Alright,” he says, satisfied that at least the kids will tell him themselves  _ before  _ they cause trouble rather than finding out afterwards and through the goddamn grapevine. “So, what are you gremlins gettin’ up to today?”

“Dipper wants to go to the spooky part of the forest to find  _ actual  _ magic flowers!” Mabel says.

The boy nods, “Yeah, you can’t just keep selling daisies and glitter—someone’s gonna catch on!—so we thought we’d go get some.”

Mabel pulls a book out of her sweater pocket, “And we got this from the library!” she slides it across the counter. “You need to learn the language of flowers eventually.”

The language of flowers,  _ yeesh.  _ Stan doesn’t know a lick of symbolism or what certain flowers paired with other ones mean, but he’s been doing just fine lying about it this whole time. It’s more fun to make something up anyway, instead of memorizing pages and pages of useless information. Mabel knows a fair bit of it, she likes to read into that sort of thing, and Dipper knows some too, more to outdo Stan than out of a genuine interest, though.

Still, it’s sweet that the kids are taking an interest into what their old man gets up to for a living.

“Thanks, Kiddo,” he raffles each of the twins heads in turn.

When asked, Stan always says that the flower shop is his pride and joy; in private, he knows Dipper and Mabel share that honour.

* * *

The bell on his sharp door chimes cheerily.

“Comin’!” Stan hauls himself to his feet on aching joints. He’s barely thirty and already his back hates him and he has to fight to pull himself from his favourite break chair. He’d like to blame the stiffness on chasing around twins all the time, but, honestly, it’s probably more to do with all the fights he got into before settling in Gravity Falls.

“Mornin’ Stanford!” greets the most grating voice Stan has ever had the displeasure of hearing.

Scratch that; the fights he  _ gets _ into.

“Gideon, thought I banned you already?” he leans on the counter, peering over the side to glare at the creep and nearly poking his eye out on his obnoxiously tall hair.

“Did you, now?” Gideon feigns innocence. “Why, I don’t remember such a thing.”

Stan maintains eye contact with the brat and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to a giant, glittering poster board.

**Banned: Gideon Gleeful**

Gideon stares at the poster for a long moment. “Well, that’s all in the past—!”

“It was last week.”

“—And  _ anyway,”  _ he continues loudly, “I’m here to make a purchase this time.”

Stan snorts, “Gideon, anythin’ I sell you s’just gonna end up in my garbage by the end of the day.”

Stan didn’t grow up with any sisters but  _ seriously.  _ He kind of assumed he didn’t have to worry about Mabel and boys until she was well into her teens—he didn’t get a girlfriend until, what? Sixteen?—and the fact that she’s already got some creep after her does not look good for his future. He’s going to be up every night keeping weirdos away from his daughter, isn’t he?

“Now, listen here, old man!” Gideon points a perfectly manicured nail at him. “The  _ only reason _ Mabel and I aren’t married yet—”

Stan chokes.

“—Is because she knows  _ you _ don’t approve of us! Don’t you want your daughter to be happy?”

“Sure, do.” Without any further delay, Stan makes a grab for the broom.

Gideon runs from the shop before Stan makes it out from behind the counter.

* * *

“Gideon’s up to no good again,” Stan warns that night at dinner.

The twins groan in unison.

* * *

Dipper has been lurking around the shop all day, and he doesn't even have the decency to come inside and help Stan arrange bouquets. He's hiding out across the street with a skateboard and his hat on backwards, as if Stan won’t recognize his own kid, even when he's dressed up like...well, he honestly can't tell what look the kid is going for here, but it's a bad one.

Stan sighs and pulls himself up from the stool behind the desk. He pulls the door open, sticks his head out, and yells, "Don't you have monsters to track down or somethin'?"

Not that he wants his son running around the woods looking for trouble, but he knows Dipper will do that anyway, so he might as well get to it instead of spying on his  _ dad _ of all people.

Dipper flushes bright red at being found out and slowly makes his way to the flower shop. He carries the skateboard the whole way, much to Stan's amusement.

"Oh," he laughs awkwardly, "Didn—Didn't see you there. In your own store. Where you are every day." Dipper scuffs his shoe. "I'll, uh, just get going then. You know, monster hunts and," he lifts the skateboard awkwardly, "Uh, kickflips to do."

The fact that the kid knows the name of  _ any _ skateboarding tricks is honestly impressive. "Mmhm, you wanna tell me what's really going on?" he holds the shop door wide in invitation.

"It's nothing! See you tonight!" Dipper takes off running, not a glance behind him as he goes.

"Well then."

Kids are so goddamn weird.

* * *

"That boy of yours is scaring the people again, Florist."

_ Eugch. _ "Preston Northwest, what can I do for you."

The man is impeccably put together in a custom-tailored suit. Stan hates guys like him, hates Preston in particular, really, but keeping the Northwest's business has covered all the damages the kids have caused to the town over the years, so he has to play nice when they come in. Well, when the adults come in, anyway. He doesn't have to be nice to Pacifica, and he won't until she stops picking on Mabel.

"I'm here for a rather large order of daffodils for the upcoming Northwest Ball. Think you can handle it?"

_ Daffodils, eh?  _ Stan doesn’t have to read Mabel’s library book to make his own connections on that one.  _ The Northwests Narcissists. _

"I have every other time, haven't I?" he raises an eyebrow.

Preston's mustache twitches, "Yes, I suppose you have. I'll need them for the eighteenth, will that be a problem?"

_ Oh, short notice. _ "I'll need a rush order on those since I ain't got many on hand," with a smirk, he asks, "Will that be a problem?”

Preston hands over a cheque in response. Sure, the Northwests are a bunch of snobs, but they sure do pay well. Stan slides over an order form.

"So, what was that you were saying about Dipper?" Stan asks, brain circling back to Preston's weird substitute for a hello.

"Mm?" the man hums distractedly as he checks off various boxes. "Oh, that. Yes, he was running around the diner muttering some nonsense about gnomes and all-seeing parents." Preston laughs, "Certainly an active imagination he has, eh?"

Stan remembers the other day and the convenience store incident,  _ Seriously, how do you know everything?  _ "I'll say." That might explain why Dipper was prowling the shop yesterday.

“You should keep a better eye on him,” Preston is saying, “How you common folk can stand to let your children stain your reputations is beyond me.”

_ How you can stand to be so goddamn insufferable is beyond me, but I don’t go saying it to your face. _

The florist grumbles, “S’at everything?”

“Oh,” Preston slides the order form back over the counter. “Yes, it would seem so.” He turns to go, a halfhearted wave and a reminder of deadlines called over his shoulder before he disappears out the door and into a waiting limo.

* * *

The kids are late getting home that night, but Stan’s used to long nights and it doesn’t faze him much. He’s waiting in the living room when they sneak through the front door, tiptoeing on the age-old wood like it will actually muffle the squeaks. They stop in their tracks as they spot him.

“You two up to anything illegal?”

They shake their heads, “Just ran into some trouble on our way back,” Mabel answers. Her voice is light but tired.

Stan looks them over, noting a few new bruises and scrapes, but nods. The kids come home banged up most days, but if Mabel says they ran into trouble, they probably did. As long as they’re still in one piece and coming home every night, he can stand to give them the benefit of the doubt. If he finds out in the coming days that they were lying, well, he can ground them later.

“Alright,” he says, “Off to bed then. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t.” That, he knows from experience. As they turn to wonder upstairs, he calls, “Dipper, hang back a sec.”

The kids exchange confused looks, but Dipper waits anyway. Mabel wonders up the stairs slowly, no doubt trying to catch any of the conversation.

Stan waits a moment, then says, “You’re not in trouble, Kid, so you can quit actin’ so tense.”

“Then what’s up?” he asks.

“Well,” he sighs, “You’ve been, ah—” this is harder than he thought it would be, “I was jus’ wonderin’— _ ugh.  _ Look, Dipper, do you think there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on with me?”

“What?”

Right. Too much. “You were hangin’ ‘round the shop yesterday, and, well, I hear you’re calling me an ‘all-seeing-dad’ or somethin’?” he laughs nervously, “That supernatural junk fillin’ up your brain?”

Dipper groans, “It’s  _ not junk,”  _ he glares heatedly, “And,  _ yeah, _ I do think something’s going on with you! You always know what’s happening, even when you’re not there, and you’re—you’re up  _ all night,”  _ Stan flinches. “Yeah,” Dipper continues cockily, “We  _ noticed.  _ You’re hiding stuff from us, Dad! You never tell us  _ anything!” _

The boy’s chest is heaving by the end of his little rant, anger shining clear as day in those eyes that look so much like his own—so much like Ford’s.

“Jeez, Kid,” Stan drags a hand across his face, a sudden weariness filling his bones. “Look, I—I didn’ mean to make you feel that way, okay? I just—there are some things in my life that I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout. I made a lotta mistakes in my day. Keepin’ my trap shut is just what I do.” 

_ There’s nothin’ in life that I can control ‘cept my own choices, and even that likes to backfire,  _ he wants to say,  _ I can at least keep quiet. That’s somethin’ I can do. _

“Yeah, well,” Dipper frowns, “It makes me feel crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Kiddo,” Stan leans down, putting himself closer to Dipper’s height. “Look, I won’t promise to tell you everythin’ that’s goin’ on, but I’ve got your best interest in mind, okay?” His son looks away, burning holes into the wall. “If, uh, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not actually ‘all-seeing’.” Stan’s lip quirks up in a small smile, “The folks ‘round here just like to gossip.”

“What?” Dipper’s voice is almost empty sounding as he looks to Stan in sheer surprise.

“They’re all busybodies, and when they notice you kids up to somethin’, they swing by the shop to talk ‘bout it.”

“But—but they don’t even notice all the weird creatures that live in this town, how are they paying any attention to us?” he gapes.

Stan laughs, “Not sure what to tell you there, Dip. Maybe they’re just worried ‘bout you.”

His son shrugs, “I guess…” his face flushes abruptly. “Aw, man, you mean to tell me that all this time you’ve just been listening to  _ rumours?  _ Man, I thought you were  _ psychic  _ or something like Gideon! Grandma was a psychic so I was doing all this research—”

“Kid, your grandma was a liar, and that’s the only thing she passed to me.”

The boy sighs, deflated, “Well, that sucks.”

“Better luck next time,” Stan gives him a hearty slap on the back, and is proud when Dipper only stumbles a little. “Now, it really is late. Why don’t you head up to bed, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he frowns, “Night, Dad.”

“Night, Kid. Actually go to sleep, alright? No mystery novels.”

“I will,” he laughs softly as he disappears around the corner. Stan slumps in his absence, a relieved sigh pulling itself from his throat before he can think to stop it. A moment later, his shoulders are shooting up to his ears in surprise. “What about the staying up all night?” Dipper asks, leaning around the threshold and into the living room.

“Warn me before you get all sneaky on me,” he grips his heart in a slightly exaggerated fashion. For just a moment, Stan wants to play it off like his son’s paranoia is kicking in;  _ A few days without those spooks and you’ll be thinkin’ clearly again!  _ But he just—he  _ can’t.  _ Dipper so rarely opens up to Stan and if he blows this—

“Look, Dipper, I promised I had your best interests in mind, yeah? I’ll tell you when I can, but for now, you need to sleep.” It’s not exactly an answer, but he’s not lying this time either. Probably. He  _ does  _ mean to tell them about Ford and the portal and his identity, but, hell, is it so wrong to want to put that off for as long as possible? Dipper doesn’t always trust him and Mabel probably trusts him too much, but he loves his kids and he likes what he has here. 

Dipper eyes him for a long moment, eyes like searchlights as they scan him from top-to-bottom. The boy must think he can suss out Stan’s secrets if he just looks hard enough, and, honestly, as the stare lingers, Stan starts to worry that maybe he can.

Finally, his son nods. The dissatisfied pull of his brow is clear as day, but he relents. “Okay. Night, then. Love you.”

“Love you too, Kid,” he calls back, and then the boy is gone. Stan doesn’t dare relax until he hears creaks sound well above his head.

Wearily, Stan falls into his living room chair.  _ Points for charm again, _ he thinks, a bitter grin on his face. Still, he knows it’s only a matter of time before that trick is exhausted, and then what? He doesn’t want his kids to hate him, but he won’t be able to keep this up forever.

His joints creak in protest as he slowly pulls himself back to his feet. No rest for the wicked and all that. He’s got work to do; he’ll figure out what to do about the kids when he gets to that bridge.

He pushes aside the shelving and enters the code to the door hidden behind it.

Stan descends.

**Author's Note:**

> why does Stan run a flower shop? I don't really know I just liked the aesthetic of it. I imagine the Murder Hut wasn't working out so well and somehow, Stan ended up selling plants from the woods instead of just re-naming the place.
> 
> thanks for reading and, as always, comments and kudos are super appreciated!
> 
> you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/inabsurd) and [Tumblr!](https://inabsurd.tumblr.com/)


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